


Bloodstains and Stitches

by PloKoon, The Harbourmaster (PloKoon)



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Episode: s06e09 Battle of the Bastards, F/M, Fluff, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Episode: s06e09 Battle of the Bastards, always angst, filler scene, jonsa
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:27:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23193976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PloKoon/pseuds/PloKoon, https://archiveofourown.org/users/PloKoon/pseuds/The%20Harbourmaster
Summary: Two scenes set after Battle of the Bastards:1. In the courtyard, Jons pov. Post-battle calmdown and fluff I guess but also there's dead bodies and stuff. I dunno.2. Sansa cleaning his wounds and stitching him up, her pov. A pretty sweet scene where they get a moment to breathe.One of Jon at Dragonstone:3. Tiny scene where a tired and generally frustrated Jon can't sleep so he takes a walk on the beach. Midnight angst etc.One at Winterfell, sometime before Jon leaves for Dragonstone. I think.4. Where it's midnight, (yes I know, again), and they're standing on the battlements and just... feeling things.5. This scene takes place a couple of nights before Jon leaves for Dragonstone. Fluff because -reasons-About the tags, I'm not really sure it actually falls under the graphic depictions of violence. I've asked advice and it seems a 50/50, but reallty it's not in any detail, more mentions of flaying and death.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Comments: 35
Kudos: 102





	1. Bloodstains

**Author's Note:**

> Trying to get back into writing, again... Let's see where it goes!

I.

He was covered in the blood of a thousand men and whether it was metaphorical or physical made little difference to him.

After Ramsay had been put away in one of the cells next to his dogs Jon all but passed out where he stood, though he managed to find a bench in the courtyard to sit and rest his bones. It was curious how his legs couldn’t manage a climb up the stairs when he’d ran across the battlegrounds as if fueled by the essence of fire itself. But it was done now.

Relief was yet to come, maybe it would later but he wasn’t sure. A moment of respite would be nice though, just the one. It had been a very long day and he was tired to his very core. He was dark and sticky with blood and wondered if he’d ever manage to get the smell out, if his hands would ever be really clean again, if it would hurt when he’d finally tear the armour from his body.

Probably. And then he’d step into another one. Bit of an odd thing to be worrying about right now.

He looked around, took in the courtyard. A flayed unnamed someone who must have been there a while was still mounted upside down on a cross, and he couldn’t stop staring at it, not even when he heard Sansa step out from the kennels and walk up to him, felt her sit down by his side and touch her shoulder to his. They shared a quiet minute.

“He did the same to the woman who tried to save me.”

His eyes had been burning from the dirt and blood that’d gathered on his face and his hands were useless to wipe any of it away so he allowed himself to tear up a little, (but no further than that), blinked the stinging away and the world grew slightly clearer.

“Tormund.” And his voice carried surprisingly well across the yard.

“Yes?”

“Would you take that poor soul down.” And Tormund followed his gaze to the cross, nodded and mumbled something to one of his men, getting to work in silence.

It was silent in general now, even outside. The air was thick like heather honey and slowed the world around them, tired bodies moving in a haze, the disturbing meeting with this overwhelming amount of death.

“I should see to the troops.”

“They’re busy looting.”

“Ah,” and he smiled a joyless smile, “of course.” Another quiet minute, listened as the rest of the Stark banners were hung over the walls. Soldiers stepping out from the castle, the last of Ramsay’s men taken care of. Relief getting close, it was there at the corner of his being, hesitant but getting a little braver. _Soon._

The heat from the open bodies rose is an unnatural mist towards the heavens. Arrows were pulled from the giant who was possibly the last of his kind. Quiet reverence, no prayers. An uneasy symbol of what he was willing to sacrifice for her. Uneasy in the way it had been such a simple choice to make. It was what it was.

Beside him, the lady of Winterfell stirred. There was a rustling of a delicate silver chain as she took off her cloak, fine dark velvet, fumbled to get it around him and he shivered at the warmth. Didn’t protest, didn’t look up at her. Let the feeling seep into him and felt the first calm breath of the day fill his lungs and how his heart slowed down, felt the cold on his hands and clenched them to get the circulation going, dry blood cutting his knuckles. Felt her looking at him and finally turned his face to meet her. Surrealistically clean, enigmatic eyes asking him something but he wasn’t certain of what.

Forgiveness? Surely not.

“Thank you.” Not quite a smile. Appreciation, reassurance, warmly familiar. It made him want to sleep and cry. It made him want to live.

_It was really all too much._

Her cloak smelled like snow and cold and nothing like war at all. Made him think of the only reason he hadn’t gone south.

“Thank you.” Pulled the cloak a little closer. “It’ll get staind.” She shrugged.

“Like your hands.”


	2. Stitches

II.

“This’ll hurt.”

“I know.” He clenched his teeth and she tried to be as gentle as possible when she washed his cuts clean and started stitching the skin just below his eye. He hissed.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” It wasn’t the first time she’d done this and her hand was steady but he’d refused a drink to ease the pain. He squeezed his eyes shut and she smiled, biting her tongue.

“Are you sure you don’t want some ale?”

“Quite.” Hopeless.

“Wouldn’t you say-” she pulled at the silk thread “-that you’ve done enough heroing for one day?” A tired smile through the slits of his eyes.

“I don’t feel like much of a hero.” His hands twitched as the needle pierced again.

“You are to me.” As though stating the most obvious thing in the world, supposed it was to her. Might as well let him know.

“Hm.” The rest went by in silence.

When finished she traced her index finger along the line, wondering how badly it would scar and pulled slightly at it to make sure it was properly fixed, decided it was even enough and cleaned it one last time. Studied it closely, wanted it to be perfect. Smiled a little to herself, was about to tell him it was all done-

She’d focused so much on it that she hadn’t noticed how he was looking at her, in a way that made her feel as though she was sitting just a little too close. Anchored his heart to her eyes. Recognizing a woman caring for a man she loved.

It took her a moment to collect herself.

“You should heal alright.” And she pulled back, felt how warm she’d grown and took a trembling breath. “Yeah, should be fine.” She put her needle down as he nodded and looked away, touched his cheek and she shook her head at him. “You shouldn’t do that, I just washed it.” Voice just a little too high. Cleared her throat to make it less awkward.

“Oh, right.” But he mostly sounded tired, picked up the linen cloth, rinsed it, squeezed out most of the water and dabbed. Whined, and she ran a hand over her face, muttering ‘hopeless man’ under her breath but smiled all the same. He shrugged. “Fair.”

“Hm.”

They fell back into their chairs, exhausted, but the night wasn’t quite over yet. There would always be one more urgent matter to be tended to, though it was good work. Jon heaved a sigh.

“I might fall asleep.”

“I’ll keep a lookout.” He yawned and she couldn’t help but mirror it.

“Promise?”

“Promise.” Instinctively put her hand on his. “I’ve got you.” A short pause where he looked at her like that again, but she didn’t pull away this time.

“I know.” And so he closed his eyes and turned his hand in hers, held it ever so carefully. Locked softly around each other. “My lady knight.” And with that he drifted off to sleep, never seeing Sansa smiling her secret smile, even as a few stray tears escaped her.

_What a blessing it was to get to love someone again._


	3. Lunacy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tiny scene where a tired and generally frustrated Jon is at Dragonstone and can't sleep so he takes a walk on the beach.

III.

It was midnight and he couldn't sleep. The moon was full and the sounds around him were new, he'd never been to Dragonstone before and wasn't exactly enjoying his stay.

Decided to go outside. Silver light painted a street down Blackwater Bay and he stopped before it, wished that he could have walked across and gone North. Homesick, moonraged. He couldn't even send her a proper message.

Crouching down, fingers freezing, he felt the water wash in on the shore. Made dimples with his knuckles in the sticky sand, wrote her name and watched it disappear. Wrote it again and wondered if the drowned god knew his secret.

For a moment, albeit short, it was there for all the world to see. A confession of sorts, a proclamation, but there was nobody there save for him and the sea.

If her name was a revelation, how could he be expected to sleep?

A third time, because three felt more magic than two; Hid his heart between the letters just before they left the shore, watched as the moonstreet carried them home.

To her, to the windowsill above the broken glass gardens, into a room where he hoped she was sleeping in peace. Not awake, not wondering about him the way he wondered about her.

No, he wanted nothing like that at all...

Caught himself staring at the sand as if he awaited a response and shook his head, smiled to himself. Stood up and turned his face away, let his features get drowned out by the dark. Still she lingered on his hands, at the tips of his fingers, more real than the rest of the world combined.

Did she know? Had she seen it in him as he left, and more importantly-

-Would she forgive him if he came back?


	4. Everything she never said

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Standing on the battlements of Winterfell, at some point before Jon leaves. I think. Where it's midnight, (yes I know, again), and they're just... feeling things. Because reasons.

IV.

There’d been some pretence of meeting there for privacy but they hadn’t spoken much. Standing on the battlements they grew closer in the silence, windless fields around them, air dry in their lungs.

The shadows of Winterfell painted the snow blue and the sky was shaded indigo from the shining wolf moon. They seemed so small just then, so insignificant in all this cold beauty and deadly night, and still-

It was alright. He was there, and she was fine.

And with them being as small and insignificant as they were, with the sky rising and the fear so terribly large, three words would not be very much on a night like this.

What were three little words to a heaven full of stars? They'd never even throw a shadow on the snow.

She stole a glance, he stole another; She caught him smiling and forgot there was a night. Wanted to tell him, felt it like a humming in her heart, all that love she'd only just named-

Realized she was staring and felt her face grow hot. Oh god.

What wouldn’t she have done for him to press her for an answer right now? She'd plead for mercy but didn't really want it, didn't want to be solely responsible for shattering this wall of glass between them...

He'd ask why she was blushing and she'd say that she wasn't

And he'd tease her and call her something sweet and she'd let her guard down and he'd hold her tight and then-

And then she'd say it, _them,_ those precious three words and he'd-

Her mind was racing but she knew that really, he'd never. There was a wall for a reason, no matter how thin and life was not a song and she didn’t even know if he wanted-

"We should get some sleep." He might as well have slapped her.

"I guess." She wanted to scream. Neither moved.

_They shouldn’t have come here in the first place._

There was a shift to his breathing, a tremble to his hands as he took off his gloves. A broken something in his eyes that she wanted so desperately to heal. Could he tell? She'd tried her hardest to let it show, let him know that he wasn't alone.

"I didn't know,” smiled as if walking on thin ice, “how much I missed you. But I did, thought about you singing, about the many little things that you were." Looked away, sweetness beyond measure. “That you are.” Felt her heart humming like a quivering silver bell.

"I-" but she didn't know quite what to say, wrapped her arms around him, refused to let him go. Felt his warm hands on the back of her neck and tried to memorize the feeling.

"I missed you." And he smelled so right-

"Don't go yet." And he stayed.

Understood and unsaid, what were three words to a heaven full of stars?

Everything.


	5. Smiling in his sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This scene takes place a couple of nights before Jon leaves for Dragonstone. Fluff because -reasons-

He knew she could read the thought in his eyes, how in a different world they could have been lovers. Hearts forever young and left in peace, beating together, a softer love than this bond of blood and war; Perhaps it was still out there somewhere, waiting to be found. Jon let himself dream.

Stranger dreams of his had already come true.

“What?” Sansa smiling, the way she only ever did when they were alone. “Is there something on my face?” Jon shrugged.

“Not yet.” Because if he managed to work up the guts for it he’d kiss her before he left. Just, not on the mouth, he wasn't sure if he'd ever do that.

She went back to her needlework and even in the dark he could tell that she was blushing. Sweetness she’d hide when the sun rose again. He picked up his book a third time, tried to read but his mind would not quiet so he leaned back and closed his eyes. Felt her presence like a falling rain on his shoulders, how it trickled down his body. Warm.

There were times, (he suspected it was when she thought he was asleep), that she’d sing softly to herself, and she didn’t always stop when he awoke. Stitching and singing like a goddess of old, allotting the fates of men. And his, because he knew _exactly_ what he wanted when he saw her. Only the gods could tell how much willpower it took for him not to say it outright but Sansa knew already. It wasn’t even about shame, that had barely crossed his mind-

As if he'd simply had no time for it because there were more important things, and he wasn’t about to chain up something that felt _good_ in the midst of the turmoil around them. No, it wasn't about that-

But love deserved more than war, and Sansa deserved better than to have yet _another_ man push himself into her personal space. What kind of love would that be, anyway? And so he’d wait, indefinitely, and there was a kind of peace in that too. Especially now, as she began to sing, and time went from being a coursing river to a still, tranquil lake. Water lilies and weeping willows, a Heart tree somewhere in the distance. Thoughts and images that only ever came with her song.

And maybe it was just his imagination, but they seemed to grow less melancholy as time went by, though unfortunately, even the happier songs came to an end. He opened his eyes when the silence returned. She was watching him.

“You look so different when you rest.” She put down her embroidery. “Young.” He tilted his head to the side, smiled, and Sansa stood up. “Now you need to sleep.” He sighed.

“Yes.” Same story every night and he always dreaded leaving. “You too. I’ll lock the door behind me-”

“No, I’ll walk you to it.” Said it just a little too loud. Not like her, and he didn’t respond, just went with her to the other side of the solar. Hugged her goodnight, if a bit longer than usual. Remained there, close, touching their foreheads together. “Good night, my king.” And leaning in, slowly, brushing her lips against him so softly it was barely there, she gifted him a kiss on the very corner of his mouth. Emptied him of air when she looked back up at him, smiling, if nervously. “See you in the morning.” Shy, she turned to leave.

And sudden enough to startle her but not harsh as such, he took her by the wrist to keep her there, and she stayed. A glance at her lips before he mirrored her kiss, wanting to give her whatever she let him. Love her however she wanted to be loved.

“My lady.” Reluctantly let her go, but he had to leave before he said something he shouldn’t. “Good night.”

Heard her sigh as the door closed behind him-

Later he smiled in his sleep.


End file.
